Bleeding Rose
by ChrissyGirl
Summary: Set just as Christine is leaving Erik, and some after that. The Phantom trio soon finds out what it is to hate, to be hated, to love, and to be loved, and how painful parting can be, as well as meeting again. Undecided as to whether or not it is EC, CR,
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Hello all. I take no responsibility for having created the POTO chars. Of course they are not mine. :)  
  
My Comments: I've been lacking the usual needed inspiration to write something passionate and worth while for nearly a year now, which is why I am so proud to present to you what I hope to be the ending point of this hindering challenge.  
The story is not yet aimed for anything specific, like E/C or C/R or O/W. So don't assume anything just yet. The plot line is still needing to be worked out a bit more, and the ending is not yet decided, but that's what makes a wonderful story. Having no idea where it's goin'!! :)  
The story will include the usual characters: The most important, of course, Erik, then Christine and what would it be without our own Raoul de Chagny? Meg, Madame Giry, the managers, etc. and maybe some extras here and there.  
My muse is hopefully here to stay this time, and to help her remain I would like it if you all would read my chapters and review them, giving me as many positive comments and constructive criticisms as possible. I would also like to hear from you all your comments on what you think should happen in the end. :)  
  
Enjoy.  
  
Prologue:  
  
"Madame Giry! Stop where you are!!" Raoul de Chagny spat out orders at the Ballet Mistress, which was quite opposite to how it usually went.  
It wasn't everyday you saw the Vicomte, let alone anyone giving the gaunt, spectral-like figure with her intimidating emotionless attitude instructions at all. She was always the one to give orders. Yet, somehow Madame Giry did not seem at all disturbed by his new display of power. She knew quite well what he wanted from her, and in her mind she could see no reason in keeping it from him. It was about time he knew the truth, and this madness had to be stopped.  
"Monsieur, do not work yourself into a frenzy. I will give you answers to your questions and you will be well satisfied with them. I am very much informed when it comes to whom you speak of, and I am not at all with an ill conscience for revealing his secrets." she replied, seeing the excitement on the boys face suddenly turn from an insane urgency to satisfy his curiosity to a calmness that had been gone from him ever since Christine had been claimed by this dark suitor.  
The boy swallowed with hesitancy. Now that he was free to ask whatever he wished, he was almost afraid to spark the fury of the one he was interested in. He had to know... He had to understand the story behind the black Angel of Death. Why the treachery? Why the obsession with Christine? What unhappiness had pierced this man so deeply that he took to residing in an Opera House, wreaking havoc on those unknowing of him?  
"W-who is he?"  
He had hardly found his voice. The vagueness of the question seemed to annoy Madame Giry, but she bit her tongue against a snide remark and approached him with a look of ice settling into her aging features. It was evident that Giry had been very beautiful once, but old age and years of teaching high-strung, prissy little ballerinas had turned her into a sour, mysterious woman. Now, not only was her face unfortunately lined with impatience and superiority, but also her soul.  
"Who is he, m'sieur? We all know who he is. I believe 'Why is he' is the question which you truly await to be answered."  
"Yes.. I know who he is. He is the Ghost, a man filled with hate and lust and power. He is an Angel, a siren that summons my sweet Christine into his dank underground world of torture. You are right. I know full well who he is and what he is, Madame." Raoul muttered through clenched teeth as he brushed back a pair of sweaty bangs.  
Madame Giry lifted an eyebrow, indicating her surprise at his words. Perhaps it still needed to be explained to the boy what Erik was all about.  
"Oh, is that so, my dear Vicomte?" she pulled up a prop chair that sat behind the curtains, stage right behind her, "Have a seat."  
Monsieur le Vicomte gave her a curious glance but then obeyed with no further reply. She smiled almost evilly as she, too, took a seat on a couch that had also been sitting idly on the stage. Interesting how he was so quick to jump to assumptions.  
"He is all of what you say, and then some, monsieur. Yet, you have missed that he is also a -man-. I understand that you hate him for pursuing Miss Daae, but tell me, was she altogether yours from the beginning?"  
The woman held truth in her words, power in them, and Raoul was not about to be confronted with reality just yet.  
"I think it is safe to say that yes, she was." he bitterly replied, trying to keep his fury at a steady bubbling, and nothing more.  
"Oh, really? Then tell me why it is that before you came to the Opera Garnier, he had already come to build a deep bond with her?" Madame Giry asked gingerly, folding her legs and placing her hands atop her knee in a stiff, businesslike position.  
Raoul said nothing until he found the perfect answer, "I met her long, long ago when we were children. She was mine from the beginning."  
"It sounds to me as if the struggle is not over whom she may love, but over who will get to keep her in the end, doesn't it? Are you so sure that he is also fighting for this reason? Or could he truly love her, monsieur, and only wish to soothe and heal his wounds from long past?"  
Raoul lowered his brow into a frown and steadily spoke, "We have wandered far from the original question. I inquired as to his past, and now it is time you live up to your promise of answering me this. It is not the time to accuse me of treating Miss Daae as a trophy."  
Madame Giry leaned back slightly and for a moment gave him a look that sent icicles pelting him mercilessly. Then her eyes of gold looked away. It was time to reveal the Phantom that hardly anyone knew but herself and one other.  
"He loves her, monsieur. That is where I will begin..."  
Now, she had his interest. 


	2. A Journey to Hell

Disclaimer: Just to let you know, I don't own the POTO chars.  
  
My Comments: You'll see a lot of quotes coming from the new band 'Evanescence', as they are my newest FAVORITE BAND!! And I feel some of their songs really relate to the POTO chars in that alluringly gothic style. I donno, I guess this first portion of the 'Haunted' song by Evanescence might've fit what Christine was thinking when she was mad at Erik, or something, at one point or another...  
Boy, did it take a lot out of me to form those first few paragraphs of the first chapter! Lordy it was awful! It was literally word by word, and I had to sit and THINK of what I might write!! ack!! sad, eh? but then, of course, I began writing at school and at night in a feverish excitement! lol  
Anyway, here goes!  
  
Emily Knibbe: Actually, I've been a fan for just about three years now. Thank you very much for your encouragement! That totally lifted my spirits! I hope I please you, and everyone else, with this first chapter.  
  
E/C Fan: Wow!! You really like my Madame Giry???? Eee Gads!! I'm so happy! *tear*  
  
Mary Jo Miller: Oh goody, cuz it's gonna keep coming! *bites nails* I hope... *looks to muse for help*  
  
Chapter One  
  
"Long lost words whisper slowly, to me,  
  
Still can't find what keeps me here....  
  
When all this time I've been so hollow, inside,  
  
I know you're still there....  
  
Watching me, wanting me,  
  
I can feel you pull me down...  
  
Fearing you, loving you,  
  
I won't let you pull me down."  
  
~Evanescence, 'Haunted'  
  
The boat was swept along the foggy black waters of le Fantome's lake at an unbearable speed, its spectral gondolier rowing savagely down the liquid path. The ethereal bride of darkness in her temptress garb of a burning scarlet red sat against the end of the boat, holding onto the dragon's neck tightly as tears sprawled across her cheeks as evidence of the torture that existed inside of her. The girl's small form was shifting to balance in her place against the merciless waves of the torrent. A harrowing sob echoed through the master's cellars and the Ghostly figure turned his head briefly to catch a glimpse of his tormented black maiden. In reply, he let out a despairing moan that accompanied her bitter weeping in a melody filled with an excruciating dejection.  
In an attempt to calm herself, Christine took to dipping her fingers in the freezing waters and watching the ripples, turning her mind from the complexity of this miserable situation to the simple beauty of the lake. Silence accompanied the crisp sounds of the blazing torches that protruded from the lairs' stone walls. They led the way down to his home, down to her room where she would await the ceremony. The wedding ceremony... Lifting her tearful eyes to whatever lay ahead of them, she realized that no longer would she be a child. No more would the joys of young romance and innocent puppy love exist. Only intense, uncontrollable passion, only darkness filled with mysteries and shadows always at her feet. No sun, only the moon. No beautiful spring time, only winter's chill. She would be his and his alone... Somehow this fact didn't quite effect her as it should have. Aminta was now numb to any feeling that could possibly exist...  
The boat arrived at its sinister destination. The house was all but casual, at least on the inside, a contrast to the simplicity of the exterior. Her eyes fled to his own as she realized he was staring at her quite impatiently, stone cold serenity covering his face. Not a single trace of feeling in his features. Another tear slid across her cheek and over her rouged lips, dropping down to join the icy waters beneath her with its warmth.  
She grasped her skirts and stood, trying to seem as steady as possible in his presence. It didn't seem wise to look afraid at this moment. Christine hardly considered taking his hand as he offered it, not even glancing his way when she stumbled onto the steps to the stone door entrance. Erik merely retracted his hand and carelessly threw the oar down into the boat. Running his hands over his naked face he entered, slamming the door behind him. Christine had already collapsed to the floor in a lifeless heap, still awake, however looking otherwise.  
Erik could see her shivering through the thin material of her chemise, ignoring the fact that she was dressed in what could be more revealing than a nightgown. A blanket of warm, night colored velvet fell upon her shaking form and an instant relief, along with a feeling of complete safety conquered her chills. It smelled of him, felt of him. Christine huddled farther into the heavy material of his cape. He walked over to the fireplace quietly to stir up a conflagration to further provide her with heat. She hated herself for noticing the long strides in which he took and the gracefully powerful essence that was her Angel... was.... Now, he was the opposite of what she had dreamed of all this time. He was her darkness.  
"Forgive the terribly bitter cold, m'dear. One would think after all of your many visits you might be used to it." he turned his black gaze to her and stood.  
For a split second she thought that he might kill her in that moment. His anger was so horrible within those deep eyes of his, but she knew he would never hurt her, even after what she'd just done to him. Christine looked away shamefacedly as she recalled the awful misery she saw in him once she'd stolen the mask from his face. The shrill screams from the crowd and disgusted expressions on every one of their faces ran through her mind continually until she pressed her hands over her face and ears, trying to force them away. Why had she really done it? Why had she exposed him to everyone? What had been the reason... Perhaps to stall what she knew was to come. The unruly fervor that was inevitably in their future. She had wanted nothing more than to flee to her young, strong, beautiful boy who promised so many times before to rescue her from this nightmare.  
Christine's eyes wandered about the dim room. Something was different, but she couldn't quite place it... Until she saw it. The ornate wedding dress that sat in his throne in front of the fire. It filled her with apprehensiveness. She knew it was to be worn this night...  
"Christine, it is time to get dressed."  
It was as if he was always reading her mind. Everything she thought he seemed to know before she even thought it. Christine sighed and stood, letting the cape fall onto the couch behind her. She missed the warmth of it immediately. Despite the fire, his place was always more than simply cold.  
"I wish I didn't have to, Erik." she sobbed in a last attempt to plead for liberation.  
"I know what you wish, Christine." he approached her with a tender look upon his face, a look of lament as he lifted her chin so that she would look at him, "But you learned long ago that not everything you want will, or should come true. It is time to face reality."  
His breath cascaded across her face in a warm current, and she closed her eyes, inhaling gently.  
Erik's voice was just as melodic and entrancing as it always was when he spoke, "Christine... How.... How hard is it, really, to love me? I'm a man too, just like your Vicomte. Am I really that different?"  
"I could love you..." she whispered, "If I could understand you..."  
Her eyes fluttered open, her lips parted as he gazed over her face. For a moment, all was peaceful and calm. Something they rarely had the chance to enjoy. They were so close, she almost thought he would kiss her. But it was not likely.  
"Perhaps you're not trying hard enough." he breathed in turn, and then faced her toward her room and left to his throne.  
She glanced over her shoulder and thought to herself, I've tried, Erik... I will always try.  
The beautiful room Erik had carefully designed and decorated just for her was just as familiar as it always was. The same sweet aroma from the burning incense beside her bed, the large mirror beside her cherry wood armoire. A sigh of relief escaped her. At last, something of comfort. Her tears had already dried. There was no point in crying now. What mattered was facing fate and what was to come, however unwilling she was. Erik had always been stronger than her and had the uncanny ability to make her do anything he wanted. Sometimes she wondered just what he'd have her do if he abused that right to such a power anymore than he already did. Turning toward the mirror she began dressing into the off-white garb of silk and lace. It was like a maze with so many layers and holes. But at last, she had achieved her goal and was quite satisfied with the outcome. Though she was marvelously stunning in her wedding dress, the sadness in her eyes and the dark circles beneath them contrasted. Christine did her best not to look into her own eyes, knowing that she would break down at any moment if she did.  
There. She had dressed as he said. It was only a matter of time until he came for her. Sitting upon her knees and folding her hands, a prayer floated from her lips and up to the Heavens.  
"Lord, if this is my destiny, let me be strong and do what is right... Protect my darling boy who rescued my scarf from the sea. He doesn't know what he is facing. I am at a loss of what to do now. Give me guidance. Amen."  
Just then a knock was heard upon the door, and Christine took to resigning herself to a meek little girl. It was the last of her innocence she would remember from then on. She had forgotten to wipe off the smeared makeup from the performance, but cared little now. Her nerves were still shaken from the whole ordeal and were getting a fresh jolt as the full realization came to her of what she was about to do. As she bit her bottom lip against the gentle flowing tears that threatened her Erik took her hand carefully in his and led her out. It was then she realized he was there.  
Neither of them spoke words. All that was needed was the silence to calm them both. She could not read what Erik was feeling or thinking now. He had returned to the icy manner in which he usually remained. No doubt so he could restrain himself from letting her know how truly furious with her he was. She thanked him silently for not unleashing his powerful wrath. It always confused her how at one moment he could be gentle as a dove and just as lovely, and the next he could throw himself into an enormous fit of rage. This was partly why she did not understand him. No matter how hard she tried it was as if he hid himself from her. How can one love another who will not allow them into their soul? He didn't know how often she had wondered about his past, and had nearly asked. It would have been so much easier if she'd known his reason for being so bitter toward the world. A sigh finished up her thoughts when they reached their destination. A door... Beautiful in its entirety and intricately patterned with designs that looked almost like another language. But she could not read it.  
"What is this, Erik?" she whispered, placing her hand on the door and smoothing her fingertips over its cool surface, "Is this... The wedding room?"  
Erik grimly looked to her and shook his head, suddenly portraying a smile that sent a chill down her spine, "Absolutely not, my dear."  
Christine swallowed and glanced back to the door, pulling her hand from his and leaning upward toward the window that was alight now.  
"Erik, I don't understand." her eyes returned to his.  
He gestured for her to look again, "Check and see if anyone is there."  
Christine turned and looked a second time, peering hard through the thick glass, "It's too bright, I can't see anything."  
"Look harder."  
She did as he told and squinted until she finally saw two figures, frantically fighting to find a way out of a room that had mirrors covering the walls.  
"Oh, Erik..." she breathed, "Oh, you cannot be serious."  
"I do believe it is your gallant fiance, come to save the day. Just in time for the wedding ceremony. Oh, and see there beside him. Nadir, my Persian friend turned foe, has joined him for the ride."  
Christine pressed a hand over her mouth and began shaking her head in utter denial, unwilling to stop the tears now. This couldn't be. It was supposed to be simple! A quick wedding and then they'd never be seen again.... Why did Raoul have to come?? Why? And try to be the hero, as always. Now it was the nightmare she had hoped it wouldn't turn into. A playful look settled into Erik's eyes as he watched her horrified expressions. Of all the things in the world to find amusing, he was laughing at this!  
"Oh, Erik! No! Please, God, no! Don't do this! He's only a boy!"  
She turned and began to beat his chest furiously, screaming for him to let them go.  
"Erik! Why?? Why torture them so? Why torture -me-??"  
"Oh, but my dear! I never invited them. They came on their own accord. I'm only doing what I should have in the first place."  
The tone in his voice struck fear into her soul and she shrieked, flinging herself back at the door and savagely, wildly pounding on it until her knuckles bled. She kept screaming for him to let them go until her voice was hoarse, and she still never stopped. Incessantly she attacked the door until she saw no way to open it and slid to the floor, curling up into a ball of heaving skirts.  
"Christine, my poor Christine." Erik whispered, kneeling beside her and stroking her hair, only being slapped away, "Come, let me see your hands."  
Christine sobbed again and saw that she had no choice but to do as he said then. So she lifted her hands to him and let him inspect them with all of the care in the world.  
"Christine..." he groaned, pulling her up to her feet, "You'll kill yourself with your outbursts!"  
Kill yourself... Somehow, the thought seemed all too appealing.  
"Erik, please." she begged, sliding down to her knees before him and holding his hands close to her in attempts to further convince him, "I beg of you! He does not need to suffer!"  
He pulled her to her feet again and stepped away from her, his lips forming into the ever serious line they usually were, "And why not? When I have suffered at both of your hands. I hardly think it fair..." then, his visible eyebrow lifted as an idea came to him, "But then, life isn't fair, is it? Come, my darling, I have something to show you."  
"Another of your tricks, Erik? To put me away in another room while you kill him..." she yelled, her bottom lip quivering as more tears slipped down her face.  
He only laughed, "Hardly the idea, Christine. Come."  
She let out a shivery sigh and followed him helplessly. One command from him and she would do anything he asked. Anything. It was a shame how much power he held over her. Most of this might not have happened if only she had been stronger. But he was too irresistible. Somehow she felt as if any other woman in her position would have fallen the same way in the end, despite their efforts.  
The trip was not long, as the trinket he was leading her toward was in the main room, not too far away. There he opened a small box of jade green with velvet lining and a gold key hole at the front. Inside lay two silver items: A grasshopper, and a scorpion. She wondered what sort of twisted game he was to play with these.  
"You see the scorpion and the grasshopper sitting idly on their own at each end, do you not?" Erik asked as if he were speaking to a three year old.  
"Yes, Erik." she answered serenely.  
"Each has a purpose of their own, each ending somewhat the same. You see, the grasshopper represents what will happen if you choose your fiance over a future with me. The scorpion symbolizes what lies ahead if you choose me instead of the Vicomte."  
"A choice..." she began to grow sick.  
"Indeed. A choice that seems tough but really is only too simple, if you think about it the right way. If you choose your fiance, he will die, along with Nadir, and everyone else in this Opera, my love. Yet, if you decide otherwise and become my bride, I will set them free, and the entire Opera House will be left alone. Not to mention our lives will be saved as well."  
"I almost pity the fact that I may not die today." she whispered coldly, looking into his eyes.  
Erik was silent for a moment, pausing to take in what she'd said, and then sighed, placing the box down where it had been found, "I give you all of tonight to think upon it."  
After this he gave her a sorrowful look and left her to her own thoughts, something he should not have done. Christine immediately fell to the floor in absolute horror. A dismal pain filled her heart and she groaned, leaning her head into her bloodied hand and holding her side with the other.  
She wasn't aware, or was it that she didn't care, that her sobs reached Erik's room. He knew very well how mad he seemed then, and he wasn't altogether sure that he was totally sane. Something had to be done... After all she'd put him through he deserved comfort and love. After all he'd -lived- through this was only what he was entitled to. It wasn't so hard to love him, was it? She had said herself that if she understood him, she might be able to love him. So, it was no longer the mask that frightened her... It was himself... And rightly so. He could never lie about being perfect. Oh, he was so very far from it. But in all his beauty, even the Vicomte was not as ideal as he seemed. He, too, had flaws. Couldn't she see them?  
Perhaps she was blind to them, because she loved him... Erik moaned and leaned against the wall of his room. For once, he felt the cold of his cellars like he had never before.  
  
Raoul paced back and forth, shouting at the top of his lungs for Christine's captor to show himself. Nadir simply shook his head as he continued looking for a way out. The heat had driven Raoul to madness, it seemed. He was jittery and extremely sensitive to everything that happened around him. If Nadir so much as took a breath out of its normal pattern, Raoul would whirl around with an insane excitement in his eyes.  
"Nadir... It is so hot..." he whispered, slipping down against one of the burning mirrors and beginning to strip himself of his shirt, "I can hardly stand it."  
Nadir had long since done the smart thing and had already taken off the unnecessary layers of clothing, save for his trousers and his thin white shirt. Yet, it did nothing to ease the discomfort. No matter what the Persian man did, his efforts were in vain. There was absolutely no escape. Erik had been much too clever to make an easily abandoned chamber for torturing. Yet, in Nadir's determination he decided he would not resign to believing the worst, or giving up. Raoul had already submitted to hopelessness, now becoming a sweaty, tearful mess of a man in one of the many corners the room possessed.  
"Christine..." he moaned, shaking his head in complete disbelief.  
It was all over now. The monster would have his bride, and Raoul would have nothing. Quite the opposite to how he had expected it. Somehow he thought it would he one of those 'happy ending' stories where the good people triumphed and the wicked perished. It didn't seem so in this story. The villain was supposed to rot in a fiery hell.... But not this time... 


	3. To Understand Finale

Disclaimer: Although I would love to own Erik for certain... private reasons... He, and his POTO companions, are not mine.  
  
My Comments: ENJOY!!  
  
Chapter 2: Finale  
  
"I'm so tired of being here.  
  
Suppressed by all of my childish fears,  
  
And if you have to leave,  
  
I wish that you would just leave,  
  
Because your presence still lingers here,  
  
And it won't leave me alone,  
  
These wounds won't seem to heal.  
  
This pain is just too real.  
  
There's just too much that time cannot erase."  
  
~Evanescence 'My Immortal'  
  
"I believe in you,  
  
I'll give up everything just to find you,  
  
I have to be with you to breathe,  
  
You're taking over me."  
  
~Evanescence 'Imaginary'  
  
The clock chimed, announcing the coming of midnight, welcoming Christine to consciousness. Slowly her eyes opened, and with a bit of trouble tried to see through the haze that covered her eyes. Blinking a few times the moisture finally returned to them and she took a bit of time to look around her. The odd comfort of a dark atmosphere greeted her tired eyes that stung from all of the tears she'd shed. A deep sigh escaped her as she sat up on her hip, every bone in her body stiff from the uncomfortable position she'd stayed in for the last 3 hours. Everything still seemed so unreal. What would come of the morning? She would then be forced to make a decision. Already she was contemplating what her choice might turn out to be. The best way, she thought, would be to sacrifice her own happiness for another's. No matter what happened, what sort of treachery was presented to her, Raoul had to live, though she knew that he would have Erik kill him first before the Vicomte ever let her go.  
Why did everything have to be so complicated and tragic? Her life seemed to be compiled of nothing but dramas. So much so that she was all too quickly becoming numb and even used to it. Her happiness mattered little now. All that had any importance was serving others, helping others. Saving others.  
Erik's black cat, Rascal, was curled up in a darling little ball of fluff on the sofa before the fire. His name seemed to fit him well. He was only a kitten at this point, literally a black puff of fur with an energy that expired as quickly as it replenished. He mewed at her gently, watching her with bluish gray eyes that shined like a dark silver.  
"Oh, Erik... Why must everything end in death? In pain?" she whispered to the silence that enveloped her.  
She now felt completely and utterly alone, and she imagined this was what Erik felt everyday of his life. This reality was what he woke up to, fell asleep to, looked forward to. No one deserved to live a life of such solitude. When she and Erik were married, would she still feel as alone? A small smile crept to her lips. Now she had the chance to fill the void in her Dark Angel's life.... and to create one in Raoul's. The smile, as quickly as it had appeared, vanished.  
"Oh, Erik..." she sobbed, wrapping her arms around herself and rocking feverishly to and fro, "It's so cold... Why is it so cold?"  
She began to feel very meek and small now within that dim, sickeningly silent room. Nausea filled her gut and she could hardly breath. It was as if her whole world had tumbled down upon her in one night.  
"Papa! Papa!! Please, I am so weary..." she cried out, as if the spirit of her father in Heaven could be of some aid in the situation.  
Caught up in her sorrow, she did not hear the soft footsteps behind her or notice the lighting of the oil lamp next to the settee. Nor did she feel the presence behind her of the one man she didn't realize she needed most. He lifted a warm, musical hand to curl sensual finger around the smooth shape of her shoulder.  
"Christine..." the whisper came dismally, his breath only centimeters from her ear, "Hush, now. I am here."  
Christine's breath caught in her throat and she covered her mouth. She'd hardly expected him to depart from his room so early in the morning, but then again, she really had never had the feeling he slept very often. Had he heard her pitiful whimpers? Embarrassment filled her and her cheeks grew rosy and hot. How weak he must think she is... Another tear fell, this time stopped in its path by one of his cool fingertips. It felt lovely against her hot skin. Something was different now. Something about this singular moment was so very opposite to the many times she and Erik had been together before. It was almost as if the barriers he had always kept between them had melted away. He wasn't afraid to touch her, to comfort her when she so badly needed him.  
"Christine, speak to me."  
She realized that she had begun to worry him then. She'd scarcely been breathing.  
"Yes, Erik..." she squeaked.  
He sighed with relief and pulled his hand from her shoulder, to her disappointment. Before she could stop herself, she loudly protested.  
"No. Erik..."  
He gave her a rather puzzled look as she turned to face him, sniffling once or twice so that she did not sound like a complete fool when she spoke.  
"You... You said that I needed to try harder to.... to understand you."  
Erik glanced down, a completely different, very vulnerable side of him so easily seen. In fact, Christine had never seen him like this before. Without the magic, the music, the power he was... just a man. Hadn't he said that before?  
All of those things were a part of him that would never die, but really, deep inside he was a lonely, rejected soul that badly needed the comfort and love the dearest people in his life had neglected to give him.  
  
"You also said," he replied, looking back to her, "That if you understood me you could love me. Please, don't say you were simply talking and not meaning what you said."  
She saw a tear fall from one of his deep, dark eyes that told so many true, tragic stories. Those eyes always managed to stir an uneasy feeling in her. They seemed to have an immortal fire within which no one had yet discovered. Would she be the first?  
"I meant it." Christine whispered, "And, I really want to understand you. I will try harder."  
He said nothing, letting her words sink in so he might never forget them.  
"Precious words, those are. The first of that kind I've ever heard. But, you never will." he replied, standing and turning to sit on the settee, looking more weary than he'd ever appeared, "It is impossible to unravel the mysteries of a soul as complex as mine. And that is no compliment to myself. Sometimes having a soul with so many sides results in a very large, very thick wall that is placed between the vulnerable parts of the human essence and other people."  
Christine stood gracefully from her position on the floor, in spite of the stiffness in her joints, "So, you say it is impossible for me to love you?"  
Carefully she approached as she saw the flicker of challenge in his eyes.  
"That rests entirely upon you, my love."  
"Do you really love me?"  
Erik was taken aback, a look of, what was it... disappointment, it seemed, filling his eyes. Her own danced under the firelight glow.  
"You know I do." he stood, "But if this is another of your games, I will not let the boy go. You know this, as well."  
"You would not let him go because you loved me enough to do so?" she inquired cleverly.  
He was not liking her new change of attitude, this freedom to assume as much as she wanted of him. Looking away, he was defeated, knowing fully that he was selfish enough never to do so.  
"Anyhow, that isn't my reason for asking." she finished, sighing and turning her eyes toward her hands which sat idly folded in front of her.  
"I want to understand you more, Erik. Yet, I am not sure to start. Help me understand..." she whispered.  
"There are so many things you might've discovered before, had you paid attention, but failed to see."  
Christine caught the icy chill in his voice and it stung, buts he urged him to go on with her eyes.  
"My face, Christine.... Has always been a hindrance to me. A curse. An immortal burden. When you tore away that porcelain barricade between your innocence and my passion, my heart cried out with you as you shrieked, unforgiving of the monster that I was. I can hardly blame you for your anger, but your disgust... It was then that I understood you were just like everyone else, no matter how much I hoped or how often I prayed to God to give you to me. To lead me through the darkness to the happiness I so crave. You'd see me as nothing more than a hideous creature that resided as a hermit in a slimy hell hole beneath an arrogant Opera, and because I could not live without you despite your indifference toward me, I continued to foolishly pursue you. You only perceived it as madness when I did everything in my power to keep you from leaving me. It half was. But I was insane for your love. Your every heartbeat pounds a perfect rhythm to my soul's harrowing song, and we make beautiful music together... We could have so much more."  
Christine dumbly stared at him as he turned and began to travel back to his quarters. She felt supercilious now that he had pointed out the largest of her flaws. Feeling very insulted and hurt, she followed after and grabbed his arm, flinging him around and slapping him hard across the face. After a moment of shock and dumbstruck silence her eyes began to widen with the recognition of what she'd done. Never had she intended to strike her Angel, never had it even crossed her mind. It had simply been an instinct. Yet, to cover her shame, she continued to press the matter.  
"How dare you accuse me like this?? I am most certainly -not- like everyone else! You wouldn't love me if I was... Yes, I screamed Erik, I was repulsed by your appearance because you -are- ugly, Erik. And because the Angel I thought had existed from my dreams had vanished before my eyes to be replaced with the murderous Opera Ghost, the father of all nightmares!"  
Christine could see the unmistakable pain in his eyes, could feel the heated rage emanating from him, knew that what she'd done was out of place, uncalled for and that the words she'd shot from her mouth without a care were most definitely unneeded. She hadn't even meant the words she spoke when she denied her self-centeredness. Because, it was undeniably true. And now her own pain, as well as his, was even greater than before.  
"This..." his voice wavered on the border of bitter tears and a brewing ferocity, "Is precisely the reason why you will never understand or have the ability to love me, Christine. Your pride."  
One livid tear rolled down his cheek before he turned and threw open his door. Her pride? All this time she'd thought he was the prideful one, and that was why he was so possessive and refused to liberate her. But no... It was she who had been the self-righteous one, and somehow, in the back of her mind, all this time she'd known. Just refused to admit it. And now, now it all made sense. This was why she could never value him. Because she'd been too selfish to see that he couldn't possibly be the egotistical one. He'd given her everything he had to offer, starting out with hardly anything in the first place, and she'd squandered it all, missing the opportunities to appreciate them.  
Sinking to her knees, she knew she'd finally found a choice, and it was the right one.  
"I know what to do now, Papa."  
  
Erik walked to the torture chamber's back entrance, or rather observation booth, peering through the window like a wolf sizing up its prey before the initial attack. The door was now hot to the touch. If he didn't lower the temperature quickly, he wasn't sure they would stay alive long enough for Christine to have a choice at all. He subconsciously touched the area Christine had struck, which was the exposed cheek on the left which now glowed a light pink. Why had she lashed out so? It had seemed so different from the normal, lovely Christine he knew.  
He reached upward and opened a tiny compartment above the doorway that was tucked behind the doorframe. There was a miniature lever in it which he pulled. Instantly the light inside the room was gone. Promptly afterward followed a suffering yell. He could barely tell the boy was crying out for Christine, as his voice was too filled with agony to really understand what he was saying. Wickedly, Erik smiled. He wondered briefly if the heat had already driven the boy to insanity. It was about time he released the men, he supposed.  
Raoul began to breath evenly now that the hot air was being retracted through the various holes in the ceiling, and replaced with freezing, arctic-like air, sending each man into wracking shivers. Footsteps echoed through to the torture chamber from the room opposite it, and then the click of a latch, along with a door being slid aside. And then, a mirror disappeared from its place, only leaving a mere fog in its place, and there stood a dark, casual figure in the place of it.  
"Good evening, gentlemen, or rather is it, Good morning?" a voice smooth as a violin's purr greeted them all too cheerily.  
The chiming of the clock indicated that it was now a quarter after 12:00 in the morning. Then, the spectral figure entered. It was already obvious who it was. There was no one else it could have been.  
"Monster!" bellowed Raoul, leaping from his place on the floor and lunging for him.  
Erik merely grasped his wrist in a grip of iron and twisted it behind his back, leaving the Vicomte helpless under his strength, "Not a wise choice, monsieur. I'm here to temporarily free you. I would think you'd be a bit more appreciative. But of course, there is always the option of staying."  
Nadir stood to his feet, desperation and exhaustion in his eyes, but he spoke boldly, "Erik! Enough! Who in their right mind would rather rot in this hell than taste the sweetness of a free air?"  
Erik smirked, dropping the defeated and weary Vicomte to the floor, "But who's to say you are in your right minds? I daresay, a tropical forest such as this can do so much damage to one's wits."  
Soon he was gone, and the two men stepped gratefully through the opening.  
"It is morning, now. Christine should be ready to make her decision. I will summon her as soon as you two are ready."  
Christine listened through her bedroom door to the men outside, wondering if the two were alright. They were so quiet. So submissive.  
"Papa, it is nearly over."  
She sighed and walked to the vanity table, sitting before the small mirror and glancing over her features. Carefully she dipped a cloth into a pot of hot water, which had originally been meant for the dry tea bag that sat beside it, and began to wipe the heavy stage makeup from her face. After thoroughly cleaning the soft surface of her skin, she winced at seeing the bags beneath her eyes and did her best to take the distraction away from them and toward her cheeks and lips with a bit of rouge.  
After finding herself presentable enough, she stood and went to the door just as Erik had knocked upon it.  
"I am ready, Erik..." she whispered, never once meeting his eyes.  
"Good." he grimly remarked, stepping aside for her to walk through.  
A light came to her eyes when she saw the Vicomte, despite the condition he seemed to be in. Flinging herself into his arms she pressed elated kissed all across his face, laughing happily. It was so good to see him out of that horrid torture chamber, and free for the moment's time. Soon, he would be free forever.  
"Raoul! Are you well? You look ill..."  
More than that, he looked deathly pale.  
"I'm fine, darling. Oh, but you are so beautiful and radiant!" he took the opportunity to kiss her fervently, sneaking a glance at the brooding Erik who stood, watching the sickeningly beautiful scene.  
Christine pulled away, gasping for breath as she did so, "Raoul... This really isn't the time to..."  
He sighed, kissing the back of her hand, "I know. But I felt I had to..." his eyes again briefly returned to monsieur le Fantome's, "I could not help myself."  
Erik saw it was time to interrupt their little charade and pulled Christine from him, "You know what I wish for you to do, now, Christine."  
"Christine, let me die! It is better than to have me live without you!" Raoul cried out emphatically.  
Just as she thought he would react. Erik and Raoul watched her for a few moments as she turned her head down, as if thinking, when truly she was gathering herself for the answer she would give. Finally, her eyes met with Raoul's, and he smiled when she wrapped her arms about his neck. No! This could not be! After all that they had been through together, she wished to live with the arrogant Vicomte!  
"So be it, Christine..." he gripped Raoul's arm and began to drag him away, but a soft hand took his own instead and stopped him.  
"Erik..." she only continued once she was certain he was looking at her and listening, "There is so much I have not discovered about you... So many mysteries, as you put it, that I have yet to unravel. This compels me to.... To search..."  
Her eyes matched that of the fire in his own as she leant her mouth up to his, inviting him into a kiss full of feeling. Erik was apprehensive at first, unsure of the truth behind her decision, but the yearning inside of him overpowered his doubts, and he returned her display of affection, stirring the Vicomte's loathing. Raoul stepped backward into the Persian, both men horrified and awed at the same time. Neither had expected her to do something so unexpected as that. But unlike Raoul, Nadir accepted the reality of it.  
"Christine, Christine, no! You can't possibly mean it... You're giving everything to him! Your life, your love, your virtue!" Raoul cried out in terror.  
She pulled from Erik as he was about to speak, but pressed a finger to his lips, "Hush, now, my love. We have an eternity to speak to.."  
A sound that matched that of lightning coursed through Erik's labyrinth, deafening the ears of those that remained in the small house by the lake. Raoul and the Persian each fled to the door, opening it to see where it was coming from.  
"Gunshots..." Nadir breathed, a fear too great to comprehend filling him.  
"Gunshots?" Christine repeated, leaving Erik for the moment to peer out across the lake.  
"There! Look! The home of the Ghost! Leave nothing intact!"  
The shout reached their ears just in time to recognize the mob traveling through the portcullis which they had manipulated into opening. It was the Opera staff, fully armed and seeming to be out of their minds.  
"They're coming for you, Erik." Nadir whispered, turning a grim and solemn face toward Erik, "They've come to exorcize their Ghost."  
For a moment, Christine turned to Erik, expecting a clever escape plan and thinking that he had already known they would be coming. But instead of the curiously all-knowing look on his face she often saw at times like these, she recognized a true look of fear. Erik had never been afraid of anything but losing her. He'd never been intimidated by common human beings. Now, it looked as if he were clueless as to how they would flee this nightmare.  
"Erik?" she whimpered.  
"Leave, Christine." he huskily whispered, walking forward and past her, their shoulders brushing momentarily.  
One would almost think, on instinct entirely, that he was leaving them. But instead, he stopped in front of the Vicomte and hand him something small before whispering in his ear. It seemed something of importance. Afterward, he turned to see Christine, regretful eyes upon her.  
"Take her and go, monsieur le Vicomte. Leave and never come back..."  
Christine's hands flew to her mouth and heart, shaking her head slowly in utter disbelief, "Erik, don't talk this way..."  
Raoul slowly approached her and took her hand in his, stroking her cheek, "We must go, now... It is the only way."  
"No!"  
Christine yanked herself from Raoul's grasp and berried herself in Erik's strong arms, "I won't let you leave me..."  
Erik lifted his fingertips to lightly caress her cheek, and he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, "You never loved me... You never could, never will... You still know very little of me, and have yet to ever understand."  
Erik gave Raoul a quick nod and he took her arms, forcing her out the door and toward the boat.  
"Erik, please! I entreat you! Do not forsake me like this!"  
It pained him to hear her speak so despairingly, but he knew that it was time she was let loose to experience life to the fullest. She could never thrive underground in a world comprised of only darkness and dreams.  
  
"I love you, Christine..." he whispered, before he shouted for her to go, "Take her and go, before it's too late!! Go! Go NOW!"  
Christine had stopped her struggling now, limp and lifeless and completely submissive to Raoul's touch. He pulled her into the boat, gesturing for Nadir to join them. But the Persian man shook his head.  
"Erik is and always has been my only friend. I will not dessert him in his time of need." Nadir replied to the Vicomte's baffled expression.  
Christine only saw darkness now, though it was very little difference compared to her surroundings. Everything inside of her hurt, but it was not a physical pain. Indeed, it was a very deep pain that spread from the core, her heart, to every part of her that could feel emotional torment. And with every breath, her mind slipped farther and farther from consciousness. The only evidence of reality she sensed were the ever present repetitions of the disparaging cries which belonged only to one tortured, battered soul...  
  
((ahh, now doesn't that feel better? two whole chapters! *sighs with relief*))  
  
READ AND REVIEW! 


	4. Word of Mouth

Disclaimer: Ok, ok. We all know, I DON'T OWN PHANTOM! *pout*  
  
My Notes: WOH! I'M GONNA START A THIRD CHAPTER! Amazing! I'm on a role!! This chap will have to do with a few other chars from the POTO play as well, so it won't simply be Christine/Raoul/Erik, though they too have a part. Unfortunately, this chap really has no plot to it either, so don't look for anything drastic to happen... yet... Muahahaha! A new musical introduction: Michelle Branch!! Alison Krauss!! And, unfortunately, this will be a very short chapter, as I am trying to focus on the next chapters.  
  
Irene: Why thank ya's! I think it is a rather nice story. I only hope it comes out like I want it to. tehe  
  
PhantomAngel22: Hi there, dear!! I will keep it going as far as my inspiration will take me!  
  
Emily Knibbe: I cry too at the end! Of course I will continue. I try to keep the responses quick!  
  
Phantomgurl33: Wow! Thank you so much. I am happy to have pleased so many people! It makes me feel very, very good. I wanted very much to have people feel with the characters. I hope I have done a good job so far. :)  
  
"Something 'bout the way you looked at me  
  
Made me think for a moment,  
  
That maybe we were meant to be  
  
Living out our lives separately  
  
And it's strange that things change  
  
but not me wanting you so desperately..."  
  
~Michelle Branch 'Desperately'  
  
"Spend my nights alone,  
  
Catching fallen stars,  
  
To give to you, love,  
  
They're just for you,  
  
Stars fall every time a lover has to face the truth,  
  
And far too many stars have fell on me,  
  
And as they trail the skies I  
  
Burn there paths upon my eyes,  
  
I cry,  
  
And it's getting easier each day to weep about you....  
  
Harder every night to sleep without you.  
  
How many years must I be,  
  
Driven by this dream of  
  
Love with you."  
  
~Alison Krauss 'Stars'  
  
Chapter 3: Word of Mouth  
  
Meg sat alone in Christine's old vanity chair which still resided, unused, in her vacant bedroom. No one had really occupied the room since the Phantom incident. Even Christine herself had rarely been to it more than three times a month since she'd been to le Fantome's lair the first time. It had been as if she was addicted to the darkness. Now, she succumbed to nothing but light. Darkness gave her nightmares. She slept with at least 10 candles lit in her room every night. At least, that was what the de Chagny had said. Meg wasn't entirely sure that it was wise of him to be giving so much information about Christine's condition to so many people, but the concern in his face every time he spoke of her seemed to give him a right to. He needed someone to talk to and express his feelings, and the only outlet was the public. He had no parents to speak to about the matter, his brother wanted nothing to do with the subject, and he had no dear friends that he could actually confide in. He was alone in his confusion and grief, and so was Christine, it seemed.  
The little red headed ballerina sighed, leaning her cheek lazily onto her fist as she fingered a curl, twisting it and pulling it as she stared blankly into her own reflection. The only friend that had really meant anything to her was Chrissy, and already it was evident that she had lost her friend to an emotional chaos. Ever since Christine had arrived, they had been best friends, doing everything together as if they were long lost sisters. They had been so close that people began to gossip about whether their relationship was entirely pure or not. Disgusting enslaved beasts, servants to the arrogance of man..., she thought. But nothing had stopped her and Miss Daae from being just as close as sisters, because they were kindred spirits. Two versions of the same person in some ways, very different in others. But all together, they made one magnificent pair of best friends. That was, until... 'he' intervened.  
A knock on the door pulled her back to reality and she looked up, half shocked but unable to show it through her boredom.  
"Come in..." she hoarsely called, a smile lighting her eyes as she saw it was her mother.  
Madame Giry, even in all of her strict expectations and short patience, was loved by the ballet girls. Yes, they despised her rules and regulations, her perfectionist ways and her bitter-sweet attitude, but all in all, she was the mother hen, and they were her chicks. Ever looking to their mother for guidance and correction. Even comfort. And being her daughter, Megan Giry knew the most about her mother's ability to comfort, even more than her mother knew herself. Meg stood, instantly falling into her mothers arms and sobbing into her breast.  
"It is alright, my child. I know you miss her. She will be well as soon as her mind is cleared of the horrible past."  
"I fear for her, mama." Meg whimpered, burying her face into her mother's bony shoulder, "She is so weak, from what the de Chagny says. I want to see her, but he forbids anyone to go near her."  
Madame Giry sighed rather robotically, nodding in agreement, "He does not want anyone to remind her of the incidents in the Opera."  
"Incidents? More like tragedies..."  
Madame Giry nodded once more without another word. For now, Meg needed not to be assured that she could see Christine or anything of the like, but to learn to accept the situation as it was and wait for the opportune moment to see the Daae girl. If anything, though she would not admit it to her daughter, she hoped that Christine would not be disturbed for a good, long time. She knew herself what it was like to endure hardships as large as these, for she was old enough to have been through many trials and errors. In knowing so, she also understood the time it took to heal. She still had wounds and slowly fading scars from many tragedies in her lifetime.  
"My darling daughter, let us return home and rest. It is late, tonight. Sleep would do your weary mind well."  
Megan followed her mother out, clinging to her like the child she still was at heart, despite her sixteen year old exterior. Still, after so many years of trying, she thought her mother could do anything.  
  
Raoul paced his room on a cold, winters night around 12 o'clock, midnight. Christine was not doing well. It was as if she were consumed with grief. Yet, she strived so hard to be happy. He never had to see her cry her tears of guilt, or comfort her, as she would not allow him, much as he wanted to. It was simply no use talking about it. Christine would go about her daily activities as if everything was perfect, and it was, except for the feelings that tormented her inside. This masquerade she put on, though irritating as it was, still was no surprise to the de Chagny boy. Christine had done this for months now, since ever meeting the Phantom. It was as if she lived as an actress on a day to day basis, expert at holding back tears and laughing when she really did not have the emotional strength to. But this was no way to live, the Vicomte had decided, and the worst thing about this situation was that he was helpless to do anything. No counselor could mentor her in dealing with the sorrow that lay deep inside her, she would never present her true feelings in any discussions, and the doctors saw it neither as a physical or mental illness. They had truly diagnosed it as a sickness of the heart, one that would take years to cure and would leave scars that never would disappear. Whatever she'd been through, they'd said, was obviously very traumatic, especially for a girl so sensitive by nature.  
Now, it was hopeless. Everything was hopeless. And for once, though he would never admit it, Raoul wished le Fantome would suddenly appear. The reason? Simply because he of all people knew her deepest, darkest secrets, her hopes, her dreams, her hurts, her loves. In only a few months, Christine's soul had been bared to a treacherous beast and an ethereal friend. They had spent time together, become fascinated with each other. Even though the Vicomte cringed thinking about it, Erik had been her cause for joy, and then, her cause for immense heartache.  
  
In the other room, Christine sat at her window, gazing outward to another world where rainbows and oceans existed and happiness never ended. She dreamed of a world that had no flaws, had no nightmares, no villains. Only ponds and pastel colors and beautiful flowers, boys and girls in love without the possibilities of ever being torn apart, and Angel's roamed as if that, too, were their home. Every time Christine was sad or alone, she escaped to this world so that she might further hide the torture which existed and grew inside of her. With each passing day it was becoming harder and harder to escape to this other realm of hers. Long since Erik had come into her life, her thoughts and dreams had been plagued with visions of him, fantasies about him, even after she'd brutally torn his mask away from his face and revealed the man behind the curtain.  
Her despair was so great, now, that she hardly noticed when she began to cry. She had been too busy putting on a face for everyone of calm collectedness that any sign of feeling she was blind to. Yet, laying deeply inside her, she cried out for her Dark Angel. He would be able to comfort her. Yes he would not come only as the kind, loving Erik she knew but also the dangerous, badly tempered villain she knew as well. There were so many sides to him that she hardly minded. He was who she loved, in all truth , and who she wanted. But there was no escaping the reality of death....  
A sob escaped her and her ears did not perceive. Christine knew what she had to do, in spite of her fears. It would be time to tell Raoul, if he hadn't already figure it out, that her heart belonged to another. This didn't mean that she'd never loved him. There was a time where she would have wanted nothing else but to be Raoul's wife, living in a house quite like the one they had taken up in. But those days were over. Darkness had stolen her interest. Passion had stirred in inferno throughout her soul. She was in love with another man, and it hurt her just as it would hurt the de Chagny.  
A knock on the door was heard throughout the tiny room, and she took a little bit to wait before answering. Everything she did lately seemed to be in slow-motion. She was now too lazy even to eat. Her emotions were destroying her motivation to do anything anymore.  
It felt like she was living in a dead body.  
"Raoul?" she called.  
It was no wonder it was he. The maids never bothered to come in any longer. Not after the strange happenings at the Opera. A rumor had passed among them that she was possessed, while other gossip was being told at the Opera. Her story was being mercilessly butchered into something everyone wanted to hear. It was as if the already devastating catastrophes that had occurred were not appalling enough.  
The de Chagny walked through the slightly open door, peering in carefully to see that he was not disturbing anything.  
"Christine?" he asked gently, then gaining a nod from her, approached the girl, a fist at his side, "I love you so much...."  
She turned to him with puzzlement on her face.  
"Why, I know that, Raoul. Why must I need to be reminded so often?" she inquired.  
"This time there is a specific reason, my darling. And, it is about time you follow the directions I am to give you."  
Christine was now listening more intently to him than she had in the last few weeks. She took her place, seated on her bed and watched his every move as he began to pace. This was going to be hard for him, whatever he was going to tell her, and she felt sorry that it was so.  
"Please, speak Raoul. Your pacing makes me tense." she said sharply.  
Her eyes scanned over his face which was wrought with concern. He finally released the breath he'd been holding the majority of the time and let his hands drop at his sides, still holding a fist at his left.  
"Christine... When he... the Ghost..."  
"Erik." she interrupted.  
"Yes, Erik..." he sighed, closing his eyes for a moment, then reopening them as he focused on what he might say next, "He came to me, remember? Whispering something in my ear and handing me a small trinket of sorts."  
Christine nodded solemnly, sad to have to recall such a night, "Yes, I recall."  
"This, my dear, is what he gave me to give you." Raoul replied, opening his fist and holding it out in front of her so she could see it, "His ring."  
Christine swallowed, closing her eyes against tears, "His ring..." she echoed, looking downward and fiddling with her fingers in her lap.  
"Christine, he wanted you to keep this, as a promise to him."  
Her eyes fled up to his own and he could see the eagerness to know what sort of promise this was.  
"He wishes for you to come burry him with it, once he is dead." Raoul whispered, dropping the ring into her hand.  
She gripped it tightly, a flood of memories coming to her all at once and all in a rush, "Oh... I see..."  
Despite the efforts she put forth to hold back her tears, she managed only to do so for a small time until the thought that her Angel was now dead, almost indefinitely, filled her with a great nausea. She doubled over, her face in her hands as her shoulders heaved repeatedly with her wracking sobs. These past few weeks had been lacking the normally expected crying fits, only because she was afraid to give in to them. Afraid to sink into a depression so great that she would never return to her normal self, and might take her own life. Too many times she'd heard of people who'd lost loved ones who were in pain that was unimaginably vast, and had brought them to the conclusion of simply giving up and committing suicide. Some suicides were so grisly that when Christine had heard the stories, she'd been quietly sick for quite a while. It wasn't her choice of endings. It wasn't what Erik would have wanted.  
"Oh, Raoul." soon she sought comfort in his arms, but he knew that this time he was comforting her as a friend, and nothing more.  
Raoul had known long before Erik's demise that Christine's heart was truly meant for the Ghost, but he'd never wanted to admit it. The one thing he was grateful for was that he would know ahead of time before she explained the whole thing and tried to let him down easily, and he would not be too surprised. Men had a great tolerance for emotions, a way of hiding them and not letting others see their struggles deep inside. He'd simply burry his love for her six feet under, just as she would burry her beloved. Beloved... Such an unfitting name for an Angel turned demon. All of the compassion in the world would not make Raoul stop loathing the Phantom. He would sympathize for him and even envy him, but never would he cease his hatred. Never could he forgive him for taking what was most precious to him.  
"Christine, you should ready yourself today. Tomorrow I will take you back to the Opera so you may do as was expected of you." Raoul whispered calmly into her ear.  
It was all over now. Tomorrow would be the last of seeing her, he was almost certain. What her fate would be he didn't want to know. Didn't want to guess. He knew the intensity of her love for Erik was high, and he knew the many consequences that could befall her as a result of this affection.  
"Yes, Raoul. Yes..." she whispered, wiping away her tears, "I will go tomorrow."  
  
He placed his cup down onto the now scorched side table beside the divan, where he took his seat in front of the empty fireplace. Everything smelt of fire and smoke, the burnt smell that made him grimace.  
"Erik... Are you feeling better?" Nadir questioned quietly, watching his friend walk into the room with a solemn expression.  
"Nothing in this wretched world, nor heaven or hell could make me feel better. There is no power in this galaxy that is greater than the feeling of agony. At least, my agony." he, too, collapsed onto the couch and placed a hand over his forehead, closing his eyes wearily.  
"You have not slept in 4 weeks, Erik. You are running on energy that is not there. Could I possibly make you anything that might restore..."  
"Hush, Nadir. Your remedies are worthless now. The point was to die. If Christine comes back to find me still breathing as I am, she'll be sorely disappointed." Erik countered, sinking further into the settee.  
Nadir wished he could speak of how meaningful the kiss had been to Christine. In her blue eyes he could see a change that had blossomed her from child to woman. Her heart, too, had blossomed. Her feelings had grown from confusion and fear to an undying devotion to the one man she looked up to so much. Yet, no words could console Erik, or change his mind about her feelings for him. He was convinced that Christine could feel nothing more and that he loyalty to the de Chagny boy was too great for her to ever love him. So, the Persian man said nothing and instead stood, ready to nurse his own wounds. It had been an interesting and risky night when the mob had invaded Erik's private territory. Erik had wanted to die more than ever that night, to end his pain, but he refused to fall into that deep, endless sleep at the hands of a haughty and despising mob. The Opera staff and their firemen were not going to be the cause of his death. So, he had kept his dignity that night and somehow escaped within an inch of his life from eternal damnation.  
Unfortunately, their plan of escape saved them, but not the cellars. Everything was ruined. The members of the mob, a vast number as they were, didn't seem to be enough to damage every area of his lair. They had taken their anger out on his every possession. So, first losing his point to live and then losing his living quarters, Erik lost everything. And Nadir was losing hope.  
The gossip about Christine Daae was certainly appalling. Going as far as to changing the story completely! Mostly thanks to the former Opera Diva herself. The story was now about a rapist and a harlot, rather than an Opera Ghost and a girl from Sweden. It made most every ally of Christine's sick to the stomach, and turned every snotty patron of the Opera's snout up in the air. Meg Giry was quick to rescue Christine's reputation, helping the talk to die down. But what the Opera needed was a visit from Christine so that truth could take the place of lies. And so that a fresh face could replace Carlotta's grimace.  
  
(Yay! Done! Read and Review) 


	5. Missing

Disclaimer: Ok, Ok. *puts hands up* I stole em! I STOLE EM ALL! *bursts out into maniacal laughter* AND YOU CAN'T DO 'NUTTIN ABOUT IT!! BWAHAHAHAA!!! *is dragged away by nutso-police*  
  
To Everyone:  
  
Thanks so much for your reviews! I have yet to decide what will happen in the end. Though it may seem E/C, I am still in a period of indecision. I would really enjoy it if more of you reviewed! It is my inspiration!! Tehe, just thought I'd mention that you guys are also very COOL!! lol  
  
My Notes: Well, here goes the forth chapter. Wow!! It's been four chaps already!! This one involves a bit of mystery, so beware! lol There will be a song included in the middle of this chapter, which I've already posted a verse of earlier before one of my chaps (Chapter 2: Evanescence 'Taking Over Me', which *blush* I mis-named as 'Imaginary' *blush*). It may not entirely fit the story, but there are parts where it indefinitely reflects the emotions of Christine in that singular moment. :) Well, not much else to say about it, as I'm not entirely sure yet what is going to happen! lol So, here goes!!  
  
Chapter Four: Missing  
  
Erik gazed at the pitiful remains of his room, his breath caught in his throat in pitying shock as he realized just how much damage had been done. Everything. Everything was... gone. Right down to his last sheet of precious music. All that once meant the world to him, the very little he had to enjoy in life, had all been torn from him in one night. No... Since he'd met her, everything had been diminishing. He was more pathetic than those who hated him. His weaknesses lied within that which he craved the most.  
A single fingertip grazed the blackened plank-like wood piece that was the very last bit of what was left of his organ. The keys were dislodged, the foot pedals broken in half, the wood scorched and burned, and everything that had made it beautiful ruined. Even the music. Erik tried once more to revive the sound in it that once was. As if the more he prodded it and hoped, it would eventually come back to its normal state. But no... It wasn't possible. The instrument that had expressed his wildest and most profound of emotions was now dilapidated.  
A long moan escaped him as he sank to his knees before the ugly image of what once had been. His home! The only place he ever found refuge from the bitter cold of the world above! It existed no longer. A pain-stricken expression filled his face. He had not wept since the incident. He had not allowed it. And he insisted on never giving up this stubbornness. Yet, stuffing his emotions had been the worst possible thing he could have ever decided upon. Long ago he'd learned that with the harboring of emotions so deep came an indefinite consequence. But what does one do with his feelings when he cannot keep them to himself? Let them take over? Allow them to destroy him as time nourishes them to grow deeper and take root in ones soul? Or is it best to accept the reality that it will inevitably gnaw away at the core of the victim and consume them from the inside out?  
Erik had only known agony. There was no rest for the weary, he had heard someone say to him long ago. This was true. He was living out this truth day to day. Exhausted as his body and mind were of being cast into fire after torturous fire, he never could rest. Never was he able to enjoy a blessing without a curse ensuing.  
Christine had been a blessing....  
And then he had cursed himself....  
What an irony...  
  
...And he began to laugh. Quietly, first, and then maniacally. He could not cry, why not laugh? Why not be just like the others who knew his dastardly story? Why not laugh at his disgusting existence? Why not??  
  
Nadir walked languidly along the city streets of Paris that lead from the Opera House to various destinations. He really wasn't going anywhere, necessarily. This adventure was only to clear his mind and get away from the ever present depression in Erik's dark eyes. He felt sympathy for the man, but never could he empathize with what the renowned Opera Ghost was facing, had faced. It was all very foreign to him. Oh, no. Pain was surely a consistent companion of his. Emotional distress was always at his heels. He'd known what it was to be tortured, to be shut out from the light of the sky. But what was it to be -Erik-? What was it like to feel as he did? To have experienced all forms of evil and treachery by such a terribly young age, and to have to live with it for the rest of his life? The Persian had been given a childhood, free of any regret. No, he could definitely say that his boyhood was a joyous one, and that it had been the best of his years. But Erik had nothing to look back upon and thank Ala for. He had emptiness, darkness, and occasional serenity, though filled with loneliness. That was nothing to be grateful for. No wonder the man had such a temper and was so easily angered. What else was there for him to feel anymore? Certainly he'd tried to feel love, but the ending to that journey was a sour one.  
A sigh escaped the Persian man and he looked down at his feet as he continued to walk, his hands resting comfortably in the pockets of his long, trench-like coat. No, nothing could help Erik now. Nothing could be given him except pain.  
A sharp yelp was heard from down the street. At first, it had sounded like a cat, or perhaps a young dog, but then, the more the sounds came, the more human they appeared to the ear.  
"What's this?" he mumbled to himself, quickening his pace as he made his way down the street.  
Nothing could be seen yet, but he perceived more voices than the one he'd heard before. There were men, and women, surrounding this singular voice that was so familiar...  
Who? Who could be in danger?  
Instantly his fast walk became a sprint and he turned a few sharp corners before entirely reaching the scene. It was a gory one. A vision full of horror. There, on the ground, in a pool of blood, lay a girl. She was only perhaps 16, but her clothing spoke of a womanly career. She was thinly dressed, her once dirty-white garments now a crimson red. Her hair was black. So black that it blended in with the shadows surrounding her and he at first hadn't realized she had any. Her lips matched that of the dresses new, more profound color and her cheeks were flushed. She looked as if she had been running a deathly fever for quite sometime. The surrounding people instantly came to her aid, turning her over to feel a pulse.  
"Faint, but still there." one man remarked, obviously a doctor by the way he was dressed.  
Apparently he'd only just come from his office, intent on a good night's rest before the morrow. But a doctor's work is never done.  
After a few short moments, it was declared that indeed, the girl was dead. But the yelps, or more like wailing that had been heard really hadn't been the child. It had been something else... Whatever it was, it was certainly making it loudly. Nadir was genuinely curious at this point, and decided to pursue the noise. Taking his time, he walked slowly toward the alley, growing closer and closer to the wailing. Suddenly, he stepped on something of a different texture than the ground. A blanket? What was this... He knelt down stiffly, his joints not being what they'd used to be in his younger days, and with a slight grunt stood again to his feet to examine the now dirtied, white linen.  
He brought it to his nostrils.  
"Smells sweet... Like..." he turned to see a small bundle wiggling and squirming while also crying, "A baby..."  
He wrapped the blanket into a ball and pocketed it before leaning down hurriedly to lift the little baby into his arms.  
"Hush, hush..." he shushed the child, rocking it gently, "Where did you come from?"  
It was then that his question was answered by assumption. A splotch of rose red had been found at one of the corners of the blanket. He turned his head to yet again take in the horrific sight of the girl, who was now being laid upon a stretcher and taken away. Someone had had the right idea and went to call for an ambulance. He again looked down at the baby.  
"Your mother... Is the girl..." he whispered, shaking his head, "What a tragedy."  
Finding it against all of his strong-standing morals to leave the baby alone or with anyone else, trusting himself more than he did the surrounding crowd, he decided it was his job to do the right thing and take the child home. At least, until he could find a home for him.  
  
Christine sighed, sinking down to her knees at the coffin.  
"Empty... Why would it be empty?" she breathed as a fingertip went to explore the smooth gold lining of the coffin's edge.  
What had possessed Erik to leave? Had he gone to die somewhere else? The very thought that he would even choose to live out his last moments alone gave her an ill feeling in her stomach. Oh, Lord. Please, don't let it be. Don't let it be... I need to see him, once more, at least... My heart. Oh, my heart! Christine grasped at the cloth covering the area of skin where her heart was concealed, though she was sure that its beating could be seen through her chest. Her eyes closed tight as two despairing tears splattered on the ground and turned into several small droplets.  
The storm outside could be heard, even in the lowest of cellars where his lonesome home resided. It still stood tall, even despite the damage that had been done. Nearly burned down, everything was destroyed. Christine could not help but shed many disappointed tears as she examined the awful terror the mob had wreaked on Erik's only safe haven. The place where her adventures full of darkness and splendor had been forged was now not even close to the black kingdom it once had been. The place she had once admired and many times been very curious about. Now nothing was as it had been. Not a single thing.  
Christine let out a small groan as she stood, her hands tightly holding one another in front of her. She wasn't sure what to think, what to do. Now that he was gone... Oh, what wretched horrors had befallen her and this fallen Angel.  
"Why, Erik? Why run away only to die in abandonment?"  
Her voice spoke to the silence that was still so very unresponsive.  
Abandonment... Abandoning.... Abandon....  
Forsake...  
  
"Take her and go, monsieur le Vicomte. Leave and never come back..."  
  
"I won't let you leave me..."  
  
"Precious words, those are. The first of that kind I've ever heard."  
  
"I want to understand you more, Erik. Yet, I am not sure how to start."  
  
"My face, Christine...."  
  
Raoul slowly approached her and took her hand in his, stroking her cheek, "We must go, now, Christine... It is the only way."  
  
"No!"  
  
....."It has always been a hindrance to me. A curse. An immortal burden."  
  
"Erik, please! I entreat you!"...  
  
"This... Is precisely the reason why you will never understand or have the ability to love me, Christine."  
  
..."Do not forsake me like this!"  
  
"He came to me, remember? Whispering something in my ear and handing me a small trinket of sorts."  
  
"Yes, I recall."  
  
"This, my dear, is what he gave me to give you."  
  
"Oh, Erik..."  
  
One would almost think, on instinct entirely, that he was leaving them. But instead, he stopped in front of the Vicomte and handed him something small before whispering in his ear.  
  
"His ring..."  
  
"Christine, he wanted you to keep this, as a promise to him."  
  
"I am ready, Erik..."  
  
"...not everything you want will, or should come true. It is time to face reality."  
  
"Lord, if this is my destiny, let me be strong and do what is right..."  
  
Christine wildly pounded the coffin lid with her fists, making an unearthly noise that was half way between screeching and sobbing. She had to find him. She couldn't lose him....  
  
"You don't remember me,  
But I remember you,  
I lie awake and try so hard,  
Not to think of you,  
  
But who can decide what they dream?  
And dream I do...  
  
I believe in you,  
I'll give up everything just to find you,  
I have to be with you to live to breathe,  
You're taking over me,  
  
Have you forgotten all I know and we had?  
You saw me mourning my love for you,  
And touched my hand,  
I knew you loved me then,  
  
I believe in you,  
I'll give up everything just to find you,  
I have to be with you to live to breathe,  
You're taking over me,  
  
I look in the mirror and see your face,  
If I look deep enough,  
So many things inside that are just like you,  
Are taking over,  
  
I believe in you,  
I'll give up everything just to find you....  
I have to be with you,  
To live...  
To breathe...  
You're taking over me....."  
  
Christine's hands flew to her eyes to cover her face. Wretched madness! Why the torture??  
  
A baby's cry interrupted her own tears.  
"A child...?" she whispered to herself, instantaneously calm.  
"Yes." a low voice replied, "Hush now, little one. You are safe."  
A small coo was heard in reply.  
"Nadir!" a gasp filled Christine's lungs and she turned around quicker than lightning, "Erik. Where is he?"  
"You've... come back for him?" Nadir inquired as a smile slowly coming to his lips.  
Christine copied this smile, hoping that this meant good news, "Yes." she grinned, a sense of relief filling her.  
"Are you.. certain."  
"Positive, Nadir. I miss him so much..."  
"You've been crying..." the Persian man supported the little boy in one arm while wiping away a few of her tears in a fatherly fashion.  
"Yes..." and screaming.  
"Did he not come out? He of all people should know when you..." Nadir paused, "How long have you been here?"  
"At the very least a half of an hour." Christine replied, unsure of what to read from the inquisitive expression on his face.  
Her fingers twisted one another subconsciously as her worries began to brew yet again.  
"Throwing a mad fit like you have... eh?"  
Christine nodded with a large swallow, "W-why?"  
  
Nadir gently handed her the child who instantly grew quiet in the arms of a woman. Her eyes never left the Persian for a moment, a strange, chilling fear racing through her. As he checked the room, his gestures became slower and more discouraged.  
"My God, Erik. What now..."  
He stepped into the darkness of the quarters and searched around, calling his name until it was evident that he no longer resided in the room.  
"Christine." Nadir appeared from the black doorway and sighed waveringly, "He is not there."  
Suddenly, his eyes caught a paper in the coffin which she had missed and he leant down to retrieve it while she nervously bounced the baby, half to calm him and half to calm herself. She nuzzled cheeks with the little boy, looking for comfort of some sort, any sort.  
"What... does it say?"  
Nadir read over it several times, trying to make sense of it, then repeated them aloud, "Forgive me, time is of the essence. And as it is, I have very little left. If she returns, and I will assume you know of whom I speak without needing a precise name, give her the little jade colored box with the grasshopper and the scorpion. Inside will be something very special for her. Erik."  
Their eyes met, her own becoming overflowed with salty tears, "Here..." she paused to sob, "Take the boy. I cannot hold him while I am falling apart like this..."  
Brushing away her tears with her thumb she allowed Nadir to receive the baby again.  
"Where do you think... he's gone?" she murmured, staring at the empty fireplace with her arms wrapped around herself.  
The position gave her a forlorn look, and the naiveté of a child which had plagued her features before shown through. She was once again the girl she had been. Reduced back to something so small in so short a time... Nadir wondered just what might be going through her mind at that moment.  
"Some place of significance." he replied solemnly, "I am sorry, Christine..."  
"Don't be." she bitterly hissed, "I don't need anyone's pity. I've had far too much of it for my stomach to handle any longer."  
She then whirled upon him and in a half-rage threw down the ring so hard, it left a mark in the already scathed wood of the floor.  
"He left me this time. His loss. His decision..."  
Christine then was gone, and the baby again started to cry.  
  
((Ok everyone!! Please read and review!! If you review quickly, I'll try to have another chapter up TODAY!! lol I'm in such a good writing mood!!)) 


	6. My Torture

((Ok everyone!! Please read and review!! If you review quickly, I'll try to have another chapter up TODAY!! lol I'm in such a good writing mood!!))  
  
Disclaimer: Gee, I hope those nutso-police don't come back again... They were like... INSANE MAN!!! *shudders* An-ee-wayz, I obviously don't own Erik, cuz if I did I would be in the story -with- him as his wifey!! :))))) I can dream, can't I?  
  
To Everyone: I was too impatient for your reviews, so I just went ahead and did another chapter!! Hope you don't mind!! lol Please, review though!  
  
My Notes: Warning: Short chapter. This chapter will be entirely from Erik's point of view, and mostly about Erik. So.... Hopefully it comes out right!! lol But I assure you there is a reason for this chap, as you'll see later.  
  
Chapter Five: My Torture  
  
A thunderous sky met my skin with its cold breath, cascading down the curve of my neck. Black clouds high above me, foreboding and intimidating in their vastness, hovered over all of Paris and dampened the streets with their blessing of cool rain. I hadn't the heart to leave Paris yet. I intended on finding somewhere solitary, quiet, and lacking the usual amount of people that any city would have such as Paris. There, I could end it. The torture, the pain, and aside from the more depressing of feelings also the pathetic dreams and hopes. What good were they if life had already ended, even before the demise of my physical body? No, there was no reason to live life now. No motive to exist, or to inhale another breath of fresh, night air. I'd had my fill of the darkness. Light was what I craved, oddly enough, now that I knew I would not see another day aside from this dreary evening. To for once be nourished and feel contentment. Though I knew that wishing for these things was in vein, I somehow convinced myself that I might be satisfied in simply wanting them. It'd been so long since I'd ever received such things, or had I ever at all?, that simply breaking away from being so numb and actually feeling the want for the fertility of life was enough for my heart to be pleased.  
Perhaps pleased was not the word... 'Still'. This is the way to describe what I felt. I felt for once as if no one was staring at me at all, though I knew that they very well were. I felt a freedom I hadn't been granted ever before in my life. I would soon escape this world of lunatics and aristocrats. I felt complete and still. Complete all except for the void that still remained in the core of me. The empty, love shaped hole. And remembering that this would never be filled, I again returned to my somber manner, but only for a moment. I was too determined to be at ease once in my life before death that I pushed away the negative feelings, and grew numb to them, but so very acutely sensitive to the better ones, few as they were. It succeeded for a small while. But not long...  
My eyes closed, I stopped on my way down the street which lead to the darkest forest I'd ever known and enjoyed the wind against my already frightfully cold face. It was like heaven to me, if ever I'd known anything remotely close to heaven. Instantly my mind went back to the cellars where I often felt a draft much like this, mustier though, through the vents that led to Christine's room. Yet, it was not her room that made it seem so musty. Simply the tunnels which the air traveled through. Why must I make this known? Because it must not be believed that Christine's room smells anything less than magnificent. Her perfumes mingling with the wild scent of the day to day tea she often drank before our lessons and her natural, tantalizing aroma were many times the ignition of the flames within my soul. It cannot be explained how her room brought so many feelings to my heart in simple words. It was not only the fact that these scents lingered in -her- quarters, but the nearly unattainable possibility that I might once have the chance to smell those sweet aromas up close, upon her skin, in her hair, at her lips. My breath caught in my throat as my eyes opened once more to break myself from this sensual reverie. I'd strayed too far into the past. The agony was slowly returning, and I decided it was better to walk and think of other things than to dwell on what might have been, even as impossible as it was.  
I wore nothing, this day, but a long coat. Not even my fedora or suit coat. Simply a clean, white shirt, slacks and a coat. No, it was not time to hide myself. It mattered little what others thought of me. I was confident in the fact that my hideous features could never again cause me pain. Who can feel pain when they are six feet below ground? This was the last day my heartbeat would pound a dull but still existing rhythm in my chest. Why should I waste it with worries?  
I then came to realizing how long it had been since I'd enjoyed a pastry of any sort. No, I hadn't had dessert in ages. Of course, I'd had hardly any real food at all throughout my life span. Gruel was enough for me on a day to day basis. Why focus on rich foods when your life is as dreary as a graveyard? Looking around I spied a small cafe where I remembered seeing a few children walk out with the most delectable looking cinnamon buns I'd ever seen. Immediately my feet sent me the small coffee shops' way. The people there were not too curious as to why I had come, and this I was thankful for. The brewing business of the shop probably distracted them from any real curiosity that might have come of seeing my mask. The porcelain white cage... How... limiting. This barrier between real humanity and myself. Ha. It was almost enjoyable to think about it. How odd and rather amusing it was that I, the once Opera Ghost, was meandering along casually through the city streets of Paris itself with my mask so easily seen! Truly, the hilarity of it all was very refreshing, in its own depressing way.  
Yes, indeed, the pastry was as good as it looked, better. I leaned back against the booth seat, happily having finished an entire two cinnamon buns and feeling rather full at that point. A deep sigh escaped me and I even managed out a small yawn. Perhaps this day would really turn out as wonderful as I'd hoped.  
  
Not likely...  
  
I was soon noticing, after breaking free of my trance-like satisfaction, that the longer I stayed in my place, the more people would turn to look at me. Worse than that, I could perceive with my trained ears the whispers they were passing to one another. About me, no less! I lifted an animate eyebrow, sitting up in my seat as I strained to hear the words at the far end of the cafe. They spoke of possibilities that I might be the Opera Ghost, or if they'd never heard of my old moniker, they confessed to one another how strange and repulsive I appeared. More and more, I came to realize that what I'd mistaken for politeness had really been the expert concealing of nosiness and disgust. Just as everywhere else I had been in my life, people regarded me with antipathy rather than compassion.  
Their curiosity would grow dangerous, if I was not careful, and so I soon left the area with a frown upon my face and the completeness I had thought I'd felt absolutely abolished. My pace was progressive, first very slow and then very fast, and finally I came to a run. No one in this unruly world would ever truly regard me as normal! Had I ever really been normal? I'd been born of a woman's love for her husband, like every child on this earth. Yet, that wasn't what made me human. It was the soul that came with the body. In my case, the soul was mirrored on the outward appearance. Anger plagued my weary mind and I looked around desperately for someplace to sit, to rest my mind. No more of this! No more confusion! No more pain! No more rejection!! Normality was all I needed! Normality would have given me everything I ever yearned for, ever wept over, ever wanted so badly it hurt!! If I had only been like any other beautiful human being I would have had the means to capture Christine's heart...  
A sudden feeling of rage filled me. It was all too obvious that I'd been cursed with more than simply a face as hideous as the devil himself. I've been oh so graciously given a temper that, given the power, could possibly take out three duplicates of Paris. At least, I've always thoughts so. It fills me with a slight self-assurance. Easier to inflict pain than to take it.  
I was glad to find that I would soon reach my destination. Already the blackened trees of the forest could be seen ahead. I felt relief fill me at this and it was easier to breathe now.  
Soon, the path grew shadowed in the great oaks' gloom, a bluish haze to everything around me. Night was simply black. Stormy forests were filled with so much more. I lifted my eyes to the drooping leaves of the trees and the small crack between each of them that gave me light enough to see the sky above. So dark... So depressing.... So reflective of myself....  
  
I started once I heard a terrifying crash like thunder behind me. At first thinking it was the storm, and then wondering if it were something else, I flashed around, catching sight of a carriage that had skidded to one side of the road because of a missing wheel. A body fell from the opening where the door had once been, but had been scraped off as the side of it hit the road. My eyes narrowed to see who it might be. A girl... My heart beat loudly as every feature of her became clearer to me the closer I came to the carriage.  
"No..." I managed to breathe, my pace hastening with my pulse, "No, it can't be."  
I had soon come to a fretful run, just as had many who were on the streets. Others stood by, stupidly watching agape at the scene. I was the first to her, cradling her head in my lap and stroking away a few bloody strands of rich, brunette hair whose color only deepened brilliantly with the crimson overcoat.  
"Christine..." I whispered, bringing her forehead to my lips and caressing her cheek.  
Oh, what cruel torment it was to see her lifeless within my arms. So many times I'd had nightmares of her death when I had not seen her for a day or so. Worrisome thoughts they were.. Now I wondered if those nightmares had been foreshadowing the event to come.  
She meagerly responded with a moan full of pain, and my heart sped fast within my chest. With defiance against whoever was watching, who would protest or who stared in objection to what I was doing, I lifted her into my arms and hurried down the street in the direction of the Opera. My safety was nothing now. I would not let her die...  
My feet carried me so rapidly to the front doors of the glorious Opera Garnier that I hadn't even remembered the journey from point 'a' to point 'b', nor cared to. She was growing cold in my embrace, and I held her tighter in desperation to return to her the warmth that had always been and was fading swiftly. One of her arms laid abnormally limp at her side while the other was tucked against my chest and her torso. Half way to the staircase that led to my realm of darkness I began calling out for Nadir, defying all possibilities that he might be gone after seeing the note. My eyes filled with painful tears as I grasped the situation in its full breadth. Christine was dying at this very moment and I could do nothing to change the outcome as it was. Her pulse slowed with every step I took, with every breath I managed to obtain. My heartbeat no longer matched hers as it always had in that rhythmic melody that haunted my very soul, and I felt an immense aching in my chest.  
"Nadir!! Open the door!" I shouted furiously at the door as I fumbled with the doorknob which had been unexpectedly locked.  
In mad surprise he threw the door open, breathing heavily from his trek to get to the entrance.  
"Erik, what in God's name..."  
He paused only when he saw Christine lifeless against my body.  
"Great Ala..." he muttered underneath his breath as he ushered me in.  
  
We worked all night to mend her wounds, keep her heartbeat steady, fight away her fevers and gain her consciousness.  
  
In all my life I'd never been so frightened, even through all of the whippings, when I'd been starved for weeks at a time, tortured mercilessly. No, not even death had scared me as terribly as Christine had that night...  
  
Mon Dieu, she is my life...  
  
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	7. Sleeping

Disclaimer: We all know by now....  
  
Phantomgurl33: HA!! Your wish is my command!!  
  
My Notes: This chapter will again return to third person (I think that's the right one?? I'm terrible with English and the like) and will now be involving a bit of 'action', if that's really what I should call it, that might spread into a few other chapters.  
For the musical introduction, it is important that all of you reading this at one time in your life either go see the movie 'A Beautiful Mind', or buy the CD 'The Best of Charlotte Church'. Or you could just do it the easy way and download the song 'All Love Can Be'. I encourage you to listen to it before this chapter, if possible. It will be my song to introduce this chapter.  
I am now going to go into a rave about the song...  
Or rather, explain the importance of it. ;)  
Since the first time I saw 'A Beautiful Mind', I was riveted. Yet, besides the brilliance of the movie, something else, a component of the movie, caught my attention. The song 'All Love Can Be', sang by Charlotte Church, always gives me absolute earth-shattering chills. This song is so haunting and beautiful, it can hardly be described!! I am listening to it right now *grin* and I can hardly tell you how wondrous this song is. It can be given to any of the three most prominent characters in POTO and fit them rather nicely. Besides that, it manages to even fit a portion of this next chapter. I was searching for the perfect song for this new creation of mine (literally pulling out at least fifteen CD cases, prepared to listen to every song on every disk by a numerous amount of musical authors, and from all different genres). Then it hit me and I went searching for my CD of Charlotte Church's best songs, but was sorely disappointed to find that it was probably among my other lost CD's (so many I can't keep track!! how sad). Luckily, when I came to the computer (where yet another pile of CD's awaited me and had been sitting for at least three days, at LEAST) I rummaged through the CD's and found it!!! YAY!! Ok, I'm finished.  
  
Enjoy, dear readers...  
  
"I will watch you,  
  
In the darkness,  
  
Show you love will see you through,  
  
When the bad dreams,  
  
Wake you, crying,  
  
I'll show you all love can do,  
  
All love can do,  
  
I will watch,  
  
Through the night,  
  
Hold you in my arms,  
  
Give you dreams where none will be,  
  
I will watch,  
  
Through the dark,  
  
Till the morning comes,  
  
All the light I'll take you through the night,  
  
To see,  
  
A light showing us all love can be.  
  
I will guard you,  
  
With my bright wings,  
  
Stay till your heart learns to see,  
  
All love can.... be......"  
  
~The Best of Charlotte Church 'All Love Can Be'  
  
Chapter Six:  
  
"Is she well?" Nadir questioned, supporting the baby over his shoulder as the tiny essence slept.  
It was quite a sight, the mysterious Persian man carrying a baby boy around the Opera Ghost's home. Yet, it seemed as if Nadir was quite at ease with the new occupation of mother and father. He never got frustrated when the child cried and never was rough with him. His past experienced surely helped, but it was his inborn personality that made him a most wonderful companion for the child.  
"She is still unconscious..." Erik solemnly replied, standing and retrieving the bowl from the table next to the divan and proceeding to refill it with hot water from the kettle.  
Erik spoke little as of late, which was a lot to say considering he never spoke much in the first place. Now, he was nearly always silent, and it was evident that he was simply trying to be strong. This incident had impacted him hard. Nadir had never seen him so afraid before, not even in Persia when his life was in danger of being taken from him. Back then he masked his feelings with a coldness, but his feelings for Christine had always been quite obvious. Why? Nadir could not know. All he could think of was that Erik loved her so deeply, it defeated all attempts of his to appear blank, for in truth he was not. Not anymore. What had replaced the open space within his soul was the ever brewing adoration for Christine. All he needed now was to be adored in turn.  
It was not long before the baby was asleep, and Nadir had achieved another feat in ten minutes that would normally take any other person at the very least a half an hour. Yet, the Persian man did not take notice of his abilities or his success with the child. Something inside of him informed him that the little boy would not always be his responsibility, and so his aid was only needed for a short time.  
"Erik, you said that she fell out of the carriage, did you not?"  
The master of darkness managed a grunt of affirmation, which was more than he usually gave anyway, just as he returned with the freshly piping hot water. He took his place next to Christine on the settee and smoothed the hot rag over her forehead, a greatly pained expression upon his face as he examined the large gash across her head.  
"Did anyone see you?" Nadir questioned again, having put the baby in the make-shift crib which had been constructed in a quarter of an hour.  
"Yes. Of course they did." Erik murmured, his attention fully on the sleeping dove before him.  
Nadir said no more. Both of them knew why he asked this. If someone had seen him in the light, taking a girl who had just been severely injured to an unknown location, they were sure to call the police or grow to have a dangerous curiosity within them. The very last thing they needed was people coming after them.  
Erik was growing desperate for something, anything to give Christine that jolt of life she needed to awaken. He would do anything now, just to hear her voice again.  
"It is strange, Erik, to see you reduced to a shivering child before her." Nadir said grimly.  
"There is nothing strange about it..." Erik replied in a hushed whisper that was ragged from his exhaustion, "I've told you time and time again how my feelings for her overcome everything I am. I told her that I was her servant, once, a dog at her feet who would do anything for its master. You know this as well as I do."  
Nadir nodded, turning to take the baby to his room and stay there until he awoke, "Sometimes there is weakness in you that you do not even suspect."  
Erik turned a fiery gaze toward the door which had only just shut behind Nadir. He looked back to Christine and sighed, rubbing his eyes and face wearily. How long would it be until she awoke? He wasn't sure he could handle watching her like this for long.  
The fire that was now alive yet again in his home crackled and popped as it grew, warming the house sufficiently for once. Its every flame created a dancing light that played upon her features so beautifully. One of Erik's gentle fingertips grazed her temple, and to his utter surprise she jumped slightly.  
Murmuring, she whispered something to herself that was hardly audible, but he figured she spoke of the cold, not realizing it was really his hand that had touched her instead of a draft. His lips were only a small length apart from hers as his cool breath cascaded over every feature of her face. When she slept, he found a confidence unknown to him in her presence, and the longer she stayed asleep, the more it grew within him. Wanting to touch her had been the most agonizing desire he'd ever had, and when he had been given the chance to on that fateful night when he took her for the last time, he wasted every moment of it. Instead of the tender caresses and gentle words he wished to give to her, he had thrown her around like a doll and yelled at her in his anger. Now, seeing her so peaceful, her skin glowing against the firelight, he realized just how much torment he'd caused her. At first, he'd been in love with her beauty, and then her voice, but soon he had come to recognize his love to be far beyond an obsession. It had become real love, and when she kissed him, he knew exactly what it was to care for someone so much, you would sacrifice your own happiness for them.  
Still, he couldn't help being very selfish. He continued to dream of her and want for her, and the dreaming never ceased. He was sure it never would as long as he lived. It was better to live for all eternity consumed in the fires of hell than to want what he could not have. Than to be engulfed in the desire that he could not sate.  
"Christine..." he whispered, "I want you to forgive me..."  
He swallowed as his eyes filled with remorse, "Please, say you'll forgive me.... Say I can go on for a little while longer, knowing you are not angry with me... Please..."  
His fingertips again stroked the baby-soft skin of her cheek, but this time instead of her startling, her eyes opened slightly, and she smiled.  
"Erik..." she breathed, turning her head as she coughed heavily into the pillows of the couch.  
Her throat was sore and dry at this point, and her head was pounding, but a happiness filled her to replace the mourning that had budded deep within.  
"Christine..." he whispered with a small smile, taking a cup of room temperature water from the table and slowly helping her to sip the liquid.  
After consuming most of the contents of the little cup, she sighed with relief and closed her eyes momentarily.  
"I'm so.... so very tired, Angel..." she muttered.  
Erik gravely took the rag and drew it over her supple lips, "Yes.... Go to sleep then..."  
  
Christine obeyed without quite meaning to, her head lolling to one side and the slow rhythm of breathing returning to her.  
"Sleep well, mon cheri." he said quietly, and stood to make a bit of tea in the kitchen.  
  
Megan Giry sighed as she wandered down the corridors of the Opera, wondering if there really was anything to do. Without practice going on all day like it usually did before a first performance, the energy that should have been completely gone by now was still remaining within her. It was a pity that her mother was ill and could not teach. It seemed as if anyone else who was able to teach the class had backed out simply because they weren't willing to watch a large group of noisy and rowdy ballet rats. Now they would be forced to work doubly hard the following day because of other people's carelessness. She looked around, stopping at the top of the Grand Staircase and scanning over the lower floor hoping for someone she knew to come out. But she was soon discouraged as she realized everyone was gone. It was late, at least 7:00 in the evening, and the only ones left were the chorus members and the ballet girls. This was even more of a disappointment, as she couldn't stand another moment with her fellow dancers. Finally, Meg realized she couldn't take their gossiping any longer. She missed Christine so terribly...  
Lately she'd come to despise the Ghost for everything he'd done. He'd interfered with the perfect life Christine was going to lead. All of her friends missed her, the de Chagny was despairing, the Opera hadn't seen her in weeks, which was one of the largest problems. No one was coming to see Carlotta sing. Partly because she no longer sang in her full glory, the absence of Piangi having lowered the once Prima Donna's spirits. The second reason, and most important, was that Christine had begun to attract so many prominent aristocrats that the Opera was soon becoming a well known theater. Unfortunately, she vanished before any real reputation for greatness could be conceived.  
The Opera was dark now, lit only by a few glowing candles that would soon burn out. In spite of all her mixed emotions, Meg found it very relaxing simply to sit on the cool, marble floor of the staircase and enjoy the warm, black air around her. Oh, God in Heaven, it was lovely. She took a deep breath, leaning against the railing of the stairs and closing her eyes. For now, all would be well, at least, until light returned to the old theater.  
A yawn found its way out of her small mouth and drifted amidst the atmosphere. All was well....  
  
"Pardon, mademoiselle... Please, I need to speak with you... Girl! Wake up!"  
Had she really been asleep?? Meg sat upright and stared about her as if she was a deer suddenly caught off guard. A small hand came to her eyes to rub them awake and she blinked a few times, then stood slowly and stretched.  
Half yawning, she remarked, "Who, exactly, are you, my dear?"  
Meg perceived that the girl was probably only about six, but she appeared to be an ornery, strong headed little thing. She supposed this because of the rude awakening she'd given her.  
"Girl!! We must find my sister's son!" the little annoyance grew louder.  
"Excuse, -YOU-, -girl-, but -I- am not about to let you drag me on some imaginary expedition of yours!" Meg haughtily placed a fist at each of her hips and looked down upon the girl.  
It was then that the little stubborn child burst into tears and covered her face with her tiny hands. Meg rolled her eyes, figuring that it was because she couldn't take being in the wrong, but then it came to dawn on her that perhaps this girl was really very afraid and was intent on getting help.  
"What is it you need?" Meg half caringly questioned, still not willing to appear weak at the sight of someone's weeping.  
"My sister's baby... He's gone..." the girl replied through her sobs, "She died a couple of days ago, and I saw a man take him away!!" she then stomped her foot in anger, "I followed but then he came to this place, and I got lost..."  
Big, watery blue eyes came to meet with Meg's own brilliant jade ones, and they reminded her of how Christine's had always appeared since her first physical meeting with the 'Angel'.  
Meg lifted an eyebrow curiously, "What's your name?" her hands then became limp at her sides again, no longer putting herself in a position that was intimidating to the little girl.  
"Jeanette..." she sniffled, wiping her nose in a very un-ladylike fashion upon her arm.  
"Oh, I see, then. Jeanette, what did this man look like?"  
Meg wasn't at all prepared to go on another adventure. Too much had happened already, but her mother had always said that it was easier to help someone in need than to live life with a conscience that was larger than yourself.  
"He was tall... And he wore a long cloak and a funny looking hat." the girl pressed a fingertip to her lips while she thought, "It happened so fast... I hardly remember his facial features... He had dark eyes. I remember them. They were enormous!! And.. and he seemed to keep to the shadows...."  
Meg's eyes grew wider with every utterance, and her mouth soon became a gaping hole in the middle of her face. It could not be!! The Opera Ghost, alive??  
"Where did he go, you said? To this Opera... -This- Opera??" Meg frantically questioned, taking the little girls hands and shaking them with enthusiasm.  
"Yes..." Jeanette's voice quavered, but she was all-in-all, very calm, "He went into the darkness.... I was too scared to go there..."  
Megan bit her tongue against a few very inappropriate words and made a cross across her chest, "The... darkness?"  
"Yes..." the little girl twisted her toe on the ground as she grew impatient, "We have to find him!!"  
Jeanette then proceeded to jump up and down in frustration, "I promised my sister!! I promised my sister!! He's mine now!"  
"The child??" Megan reluctantly asked, afraid to really know anything more about this predicament.  
"Yes!! Jacob..." she grew quiet again and sighed, "I don't have anyone else...."  
Meg felt a great swell of pity for Jeanette, but to go down to the cellars... alone... with no one to protect her... Yet, the thought of that little boy, all alone with the murderous Opera Ghost... She narrowed her eyes with determination.  
"Wait here...."  
Jeanette followed, absolutely defying the ballerina's orders, "I have to come!! He's mine, now! I'll protect you!"  
Clever, that was. A little girl protecting a sixteen-year old ballet rat. That would be the day.  
"Jeanette, stay here. Just.... Just stay here!!" Meg attempted picking the girl up and placing her in another area, but soon after she turned her back the small pitter patter of tiny footsteps was heard behind her again, "Jeanette!"  
Meg flashed around, meeting once again with those pleading eyes. A sigh escaped her and promptly following came a frustrated grunt, "Fine, but stay close.... Who knows, someone might have an appetite for 'Jeanette Stew'."  
She quickly wished she hadn't said that. Her own nerves jumped at the thought.  
  
((ok, that's chapter six *yawns* I'm all write-d out. well, read and review while I think of a plot for the next chapter!!! tehe when writer's block dissipates, one must take advantage of the opportunity!!)) 


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